(Writer’s note: Sometimes a story idea sticks in your head and you have to get it in print to get it out. This is an idea that has been on my mind for awhile. My desire was to capture the emotions of the moment with as few words as possible. But my heart and sadness is for the innocent during a very tragic part of world history.)
Magda came out of the room and softly closed the door behind her as though not wanting to awaken the children. She was very pale, her eyes all red and puffy. Then she numbly made her way down the stairs.
She found an empty room with a table and a deck of cards. She sat down and reached out for them, mindlessly shuffling them before laying them out in the familiar pattern of solitaire. She listlessly moved cards to and fro, not wanting to feel anymore… not wanting to think.
She heard the sound of feet in the hallway beyond but did not bother to look up. A lone, well-dressed male came into the room and stood before her. He never said a word.
She looked up and saw it was Joseph. All he had to do was acknowledge the look in her eyes to know it was done. There was a look of great sorrow etched in his features. He must have aged at least a decade these last few days.
She acknowledged the gun in his right hand. In response she stood up from the table, abandoning her game. Together they walked out the door, not saying a word to each other.
They did not walk hand in hand. There was no longer any semblance of affection left to share with each other. His prior infidelities had seen to that. All that held them together was the children… and now they were gone.
As they climbed the stairs the horrible memory returned, the memory of her oldest daughter waking up and resisting her. She’d been forced to grasp her face and pry her mouth open, forcing the capsule between her lips. Then she’d made her bite down on it.
Around her had been the sounds of writhing bodies, of unconscious children having horrible seizures. She hadn’t been able to look at them anymore. She’d numbed herself to the horror, rationalizing her actions.
The capsule had finally broken, the eldest going into the expected seizures. She no longer had to force her and she gently let go of her head. She could not speak, could not ask her daughter for forgiveness as the tears welled up in her eyes. It did not matter; she deserved none.
It was a situation of her own making. She could not allow the children to live with the heavy burden they would be forced to bear afterwards. And she could not live being forced to admit to what her husband had been a part of all these years. The responsibility was hers and hers alone for her willing participation.
She and her husband finally reached the main floor. It was dark as they stepped outside into the garden. Off in the distance the sound of artillery fire indicated just how close the battle raged.
They paused for a moment, neither one willing to speak. There was nothing more to say to each other, no reason to prolong the inevitable. There was nothing now but sadness and regret. It was over, time to end everything. Death would be a relief.
She took two steps forward and then turned to face him, a look of sadness in her eyes. She did not request him to take action; there was no need. She spoke not a word; she simply stood there waiting.
Numbly he lifted the gun and pointed it at her chest. She didn’t even stiffen with anticipation. Then he pulled the trigger.
The weapon spit death, a direct shot into her heart. She collapsed in a heap. A moment later there was a second shot. But she did not hear it, not that she would have cared. He had blown the back of his brains out.
At first there was merciful blackness, a respite from her agony. But then the veil of darkness lifted. She was back in that room, watching from above as she poisoned her children all over again. They were having seizures, the oldest fighting against her… fighting for her life as she forced the cyanide capsule into her mouth. Then she opened her mouth in a silent scream, forced to watch a monster killing her children over and over for all eternity.
This… was worse than hell…
© 2016 (written May 12 ’16 by Riwa)